


In Vino Veritas

by Daegaer



Series: Burning Rome [10]
Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: 1st Century CE, Ancient Rome, Assassins & Hitmen, Friendship, Gen, Historical, Psychic Abilities, Redemption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 01:39:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4121514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sesithacus tells Caratacus the truth about his vision of the fate of Rome - Caratacus tells him some truths in return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Vino Veritas

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2015 Weiss vs Saiyuki Battle Week 2 challenge, "Redemption" theme.
> 
> Rather than speaking entirely in Latin or ancient British, Caratacus uses one modern Welsh word, _hiraeth_ , that encompasses both homesickness and grief for what has been lost. His precognition is clearly also linguistic! (Alas, I know no ancient British past some proper nouns. I also know no ancient Germanic, and my attempt to backform a Germanic version of Sesithacus is undoubtedly incorrect, and due to all my own error).

"You've been in a foul humour for days," Caratacus said, leaning on his staff and peering down at Sesithacus' private lair behind the garden slaves' sheds. "What spirit is whispering in your ear?"

"Go away," Sesithacus said, raising the jug to his mouth again. "Damn this watered-down wine," he muttered. "Damn all grapes and the Romans who drink their juice. I want beer."

Caratacus sighed and lowered himself down to squat opposite him. "You're not the only one. We're far from civilization, my friend, we have to make do with what we have." He reached out and plucked the jug from Sesithacus' fingers, taking a long draught before setting it down, just a little too far out of reach to make it worth Sesithacus' while rescuing it immediately. "I used to like this well enough, when I tasted it but rarely," Caratacus mused. "Now I'd give anything for a cup of proper honey-beer." He sighed and moved round to sit beside Sesithacus, his back against the sun-warmed wood.

They sat in glum silence for what seemed an age. Sesithacus at last dug himself from under the weight of all the wine and listened with all his might to the other's thoughts, though it was more difficult than usual, for he felt easily confused by sudden noises or gusts of wind and anyway, it was surely not possible that the man was feeling homesick for –

"It can't _really_ rain that much in Brittania, can it?" Sesithacus said.

Caratacus looked at him, sidelong. "It can. It does." He sighed again, heavily. "But when it stops – the air is so _clean_ -smelling, and all the little birds start singing again. A small thing, I know, but do you not have small things you miss from home?" He scrubbed his hands across his face and said, quiet and muffled, "I am laden down with _hiraeth_. I wish I were home."

Sesithacus felt an awkward pain, knowing he himself could not go home, not when he was known not only as a man touched by the gods, but as a coward and a runaway; perhaps, he thought, he could help Caratacus. He put a hand on the Briton's shoulder.

"You could. You could just go – who knows what the others want to do, but you needn't worry about them, I'd go with you to be your eyes on the way. You could show me off as a stupid Teuton you found on the road –"

Caratacus' hand came up to cover his, as if he were an ordinary man, about to agree with a friend's plan. Then he sat straighter and turned to look in Sesithacus' face as directly as if he could see properly.

"My home is gone," he said, calmly. "They took it from me. They destroyed my home, they destroyed my place amongst my people, they destroyed my people – the Romans destroyed my _world_ , Sesithacus. The least I can do is repay the favour." He lifted the wine jug to his mouth and took a long draught, passing it back. "The more of their families I can kill the better."

They both sank into silence then, Sesithacus holding onto the jug like a talisman against bad luck. After a little he drank again, the wine promising at least a little space of ease from his thoughts that circled like crows. Caratacus nudged him and he reluctantly passed the jug over. Sesithacus sat back and looked up at the sun coming out from behind a cloud, the sudden bright gleam of gold as sharp as a spear point. He closed his eyes in despair.

"I'm going to die," he said, and felt Caratacus shift in surprise beside him.

"What god has told you so?"

"Your spell – I – I damn the day I met you, do you know that? Give me back the wine."

"I _knew_ you hadn't told me all you'd seen," Caratacus said, "tell me now."

"I knew Rome would be doomed because I saw the Valkyries," Sesithacus said miserably. "They roam the battlefield and choose those of the dead who will come to Woden's hall. They were riding for Rome, Caratacus, and they chose me to ride with them. Do you understand? I am a dead man. And I want to be drunker than I am now."

He drank deeply as Caratacus watched him, then peered into the jug in disgust. There was no more than a mouthful left before he would hit the dregs. "Here," he said, handing it back. "I ran," he said in misery. "I ran from my home and my people to get away from my wyrd and it has followed me here. I was a disgrace and a coward for no reason."

Caratacus leant forwards, tracing something in the dust, his face solemn. He squinted down at the marks he'd made, then scuffed them out with his foot. "When the Romans came to Ynys Môn," he said, as if the words were being dragged from him, "I was not there. I should have been, it was past time in my training for me to have gone there, but I had a friend from whom I did not wish to be parted. _Six months, a year more_ , I thought. _There are wise men and women I can learn from before I go._ Then all changed; the queen's husband died and the Romans said they were his heirs. All lies and nonsense, but when the queen told them so –" He grimaced and fell silent a long moment.

"And so we fought and thought we driven them out, and avenged their insults and crimes, but Rome has a world of fighting men. What could we do against that? Our army was scattered, Ynys Môn fell, and there I was, a half-trained, half-blind man with no place left in the whole world for me. Even now I think, perhaps all they needed was one more voice to sing spells against the Romans –"

"You'd just have been one more corpse," Sesithacus said, knowing as he said it that Caratacus did not believe him. "And your friend?"

"Dead," Caratacus said, and shut his mouth on the matter. He did not seem to be looking at anything, his failing eyes fixed on what was, Sesithacus thought, a memory rather than a vision of the future. They sat there in silence for what seemed an age before Caratacus took a breath and seemed to come back to himself. "All men die," he said, sounding as if he were trying to be of some comfort. "It's how a man lives and how he dies that's important. I do not expect to live past this myself, Sesithacus."

"Saexdag. If I'm to die, I'll be known be my proper name."

Caratacus tried it a couple of times then sighed. "I don't think I can say it any better than you can say mine."

"A jest of the gods, that you have to plan your revenge with us in a language you hate," Sesithacus said dully.

"Stop this," Caratacus said. "Stop moping. If you've been told of your death it is a gift, not a curse. You have nothing left to fear – you can't die before these, these –"

"Valkyries."

"- before they come for you, can you? And they come in battle? So now you know you don't die running from a woman's husband, or slipping on dung and breaking your neck, or being knifed in the marketplace. You die a proper death, a warrior's death; be glad of it."

Sesithacus scrubbed at his face. _Haljo take the man,_ he thought. He was at least right that Sesithacus was moping like a child. "You were not yet trained in the art of giving comfort before you left Britannia, I see."

Caratacus laughed, and slung an arm about his shoulders, shaking him in a friendly manner. "I don't need to comfort you when I'm right. You know it. And now that wine has settled enough that I won't get my mouth full of dregs –" He let go of Sesithacus to pick up the jug, and carefully drank the last of the wine.

 _Act like a man_ , Sesithacus thought. _What does it matter that I'd prefer to see more than twenty winters? Let me have a good death and a name known down through the years; even this mad Celt knows the value of that._ He took a deep breath and did his best to smile back at the Briton.

"This," he said, tracing the band of blue swirls around Caratacus' upper arm, "is this a spell? What's it for?"

"Yes," Caratacus said, peering hopefully into the jug before setting it aside. "And I can't tell you. And this? For good hunting?" He smiled as he wrapped a hand around Sesithacus' arm, over the deer that was caught in mid-gallop, legs outstretched, head up and antlers stretching backwards.

"Yes. I did all right until I came to Roman lands – how can they live in lands with so little hunting? I miss the forests."

"We'll both see the forests of our boyhoods again," Caratacus said, "when we've done what we have to. We'll never have to be in a city again, and we'll gain back all that was lost. You'll see your sister again, I promise. When the time comes, you should kill some girls for her so that she'll have servants."

Sesithacus laughed at the thought of his little sister with servants, then paused. "She's really dead then, you've seen it? And she's in Woden's hall?" Perhaps she was, he thought. A god of prophecy might want a sacrifice like that.

Caratacus shrugged. "We all die, whether young or old. Only the gods live forever, Sesithacus. But I know you'll see her again."

Sesithacus nodded. Good, he thought. Good. He felt better all at once, as if he knew his father had forgiven him for running, and his mother was not ashamed of her errant son. _This is my fate_ , he thought, _here, with these foreign madmen who are, it seems, my friends. Good._

"Maybe you did learn to give comfort after all, over there in the rain," he said. "You're right."

Caratacus slipped his hand from Sesithacus' arm back around his shoulders. "Good man," he said. "Now, let me tell your future for this afternoon, and you will feel even better. The kitchens are unguarded, and a man with his wits about him and all his sight might slip in and steal a full jug or two of unwatered wine, and we could get properly drunk."

"Finally I meet a priest whose words have merit," Sesithacus said, clambering to his feet. "This man of wit and sight, does he need to be fully sober?"

"By the gods of my people, I hope not," Caratacus said, laughter in his voice. "See if you can get some meat as well."

Sesithacus looked down at him, relaxed against the wall of the shed and felt as sure as if a god had told him that he would have the rest of this day, at least, in peace. "I'll miss you, when I'm in Woden's hall," he said.

Caratacus squinted upwards, shielding his eyes with a hand. "And I'll miss you, when I'm in the Land of the Ever-Young. We must make the most of what time we have now. Hurry back with that wine."

Sesithacus grinned and strode off, the embodiment of innocence, hardly staggering at all, and certainly not the sort of man who looked like he was on a mission to steal food and drink from his employer's kitchens. He felt, he thought, perfectly all right. He just had to keep listening to his friends, that was all.


End file.
